


The One Where Eames Plays With Arthur's Ass

by 1lostone



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Play, M/M, Rimming, Spanking, holy shit guise I'm writing inception, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames just wants Arthur to admit one tiny, insignificant thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Eames Plays With Arthur's Ass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlm121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlm121/gifts).



> Thanks to zjofierose for the beta read! You are awesome and my tenses thank you!!!! <3

Because hello, why ~~hide my total lack of skill when titling things~~ be coy? Posted based on [this prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/7339.html?thread=11467435#t11467435) at the [](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**inception_kink**](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/). I orig saw this prompt because of [](http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/profile)[**cherrybina**](http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/) flailing over a few unfilled rimming prompts and thought I'd give it a go.This fic brought to you because of [](http://jlm121.livejournal.com/profile)[**jlm121**](http://jlm121.livejournal.com/) who incepted me with all of the pretty, pretty boys. Also, Tom Hardy.

 

**Beta'd by** [ ](http://zjofierose.livejournal.com/profile) **zjofierose **Thank you so much for everything bb. <3**  
**

* * *

* * *

Arthur doesn’t quite know how he got here; when he’d gone from just fucking having  _enough_  of Eames’ bullshit to pressed up against the hotel room door with the solid bulk of Eames’ body keeping him from moving. He’s trembling; actually  _trembling_  with the need to either punch or kick or...

_Or._

Eames’ mouth is hovering against the curve of Arthur’s neck, his hot breath just enough to startle Arthur out of mid-rant. He can feel that Eames has blocked him completely; pressing his chest to Arthur’s back hard enough that Arthur’s cheek is pressed into the peephole of the cheap hotel room door.

The words drain out of Arthur’s mind like sand through a funnel. He struggles for a minute, then: “This is bullshit. Get the fuck off of me.”

Eames doesn’t acknowledge Arthur’s words, instead moving his mouth up the slope of Arthur’s neck, hovering just under his ear. He is very careful not to touch Arthur with his mouth. Arthur tries to get his arms up to push against the door, and Eames simply steps even closer, using his body weight until he’s pressed against Arthur, his chest and hips and tense, muscled thighs keeping him still.

“Admit it.”

The ‘no’ that comes to Arthur’s lips sounds whiny and petulant, even for the ridiculousness of the argument. If he could just move his arm, or twist his heel, he could get the leverage he needs to really  _hurt_  Eames.

“ _Admit_ it, Arthur.”

“Fuck _off_!” Arthur’s heart is pounding in a mad rhythm. He’s so used to Eames calling him ‘darling’, or ‘pet’, or some other ridiculous thing that hearing his _name_ does something to him, pulls at him in a way that sends warning bells going off all over the place.

Eames bites him.

Arthur sags against the cheap wood door, his eyelids shutting, a moment of  _what the actual fuck_  before he realizes that Eames is licking at where his teeth had been just a second ago, the tip of Eames’ tongue slowly meandering over the spot, his breath hot against Arthur’s skin.

“Admit. It. Admit that you cannot for one _bloody_ moment stand it when I’m right. Admit how you’re so used to working with Cobb, used to cleaning up his messes, that you fucked us out of a job because you were too fucking _proud_ to take a little advice.”

Arthur shivers as the low rumble of Eames’ voice wraps around him just as intimately as Eames’ body. He grits his jaw and refuses to say anything.

“ _Admit that you fucked up_.”

Arthur gasps for breath as Eames does something with his lips to the back of Arthur's neck. Eames pauses for a minute, as though he’s actually waiting for a response. He can feel Eames’ heat now, causing Arthur’s own body to sweat slightly under his suit. Eames moves away from him, and Arthur can’t bite back the small sound of disappointment. He can feel Eames’ body tense with surprise for just a moment before he laughs, low. “Why darling. You’re trembling.”

Anything Arthur would say at this point would just sound ridiculous, so he simply squeezes his eyes shut. Eames had always enjoyed pushing Arthur’s limits, whether it was arguing with his research, or interjecting ideas on an already flawlessly planned job, or invading Arthur’s personal space with his pet names, and accent and...

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, darling. You look like you’re just barely holding on to all that lovely control.” Eames' finger slides against the side of Arthur’s forehead, tracing down over his eyebrow and eyelid, down the column of his nose and over the seam of his lips. He takes another step back and Arthur shivers, from cold this time.

“Well go on then. Strip off.”

Arthur’s cock goes semi-hard, his eyes popping open at the low order tossed out as though Eames told men to get naked every day of his life. For all Arthur knows, he does. He understands why Eames took that step away from him: Arthur has a choice. He can open the door, walk out of the hotel room, and forget that the past few minutes had never happened. Or, he can stay, take off his clothes, and let Eames take away some of his rigid control.

Arthur takes off his coat, still avoiding Eames’ eyes. He can see Eames watching him as he drapes it over the one desk chair in the room, nervously sliding his hands over the fabric to smooth out any wrinkles. He catches a glimpse of Eames in the mirror, standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, the material of his shirt barely stretching over the dips of muscle. He has left the two top buttons open, and the dark ink of one of his tattoos peeks out. Arthur has always suspected that Eames had several more tattoos hidden under his clothes, but has never been given the opportunity to see. The sight makes his mouth dry. He can see his own body in the mirror; the button down shirt, his tie, his trousers. His face is flushed. When he turns, he can see the irritated spot on his neck where Eames marked him, and knows that there will be a bruise there later. Arthur licks at dry lips and forces a small, condescending smirk when he sees Eames’ eyes darken.

Arthur’s fingers goes to his tie. He raises an eyebrow as he undoes the knot, sliding the silk through his fingers. A muscle twitches in Eames’ jaw, but otherwise he seems completely calm. He takes the tie out of Arthur’s hand and hangs onto it, wrinkling it in his tight grip.

“You know that this is ridiculous. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have saved us a lot of time by just telling me sooner.”

It's Eames’ turn to raise his eyebrow, now-he even smiles, and Arthur’s cock twitches again in his tight trousers. Arthur takes a step forward, but is blocked by the lightning-quick movement of Eames’ hand gripping his jaw. For a moment he almost flinches, and the barely restrained strength in that grip makes Arthur  _want_.

“Let me be clear. You’re staying so that I can fuck that posh, condescending, controlling attitude of yours right out of you. You will be mussed, darling. Sweaty and desperate. Wrecked and begging for my cock. If any of that doesn’t sound up to snuff, you should leave. I’m sure that I can find someone else to work off my mood.”

Arthur’s eyes flash. He’s as shocked by the jolt of jealousy he feels as he is at the idea that he really,  _really_  wants what Eames is offering.

“I don’t let men fuck me, Mr. Eames.”

Eames’ lips twitch, the disappointment quicksilver on his face before he hides it. “Well, then. Ta for the job. I’ll be sure to call you if I hear of any--” Eames turns away, his fist mangling Arthur's tie as though he can’t quite control himself.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want your cock,” Arthur interrupts.

Eames is on him before he can suck in a breath, his thick lips feeding at Arthur’s thinner ones, holding his head for his onslaught of his mouth. He is just as overwhelming with his kiss as with everything else. Arthur hears the crash of the chair hit the desk then hit the mirror as Eames licks into his mouth, kissing him with the same single-mindedness he displays when getting the details for his forging just so. Arthur kisses back, losing himself for a minute. There is pent-up anger in both of them as they both battle for ownership of the other’s mouth. Eames rips his mouth away with a gasp of air, and Arthur is left panting, holding onto the corner of the desk with knuckles gone white.

“Take off your kit before I take it off of you. And I _promise_ that I will not be as gentle on that lovely fabric as you would be, darling.”

Arthur blinks open his eyes, completely dazed. He sucks in his own breath and begins to unbutton himself out of his shirt, not hurrying, but not pushing Eames yet either. He swallows thickly at the realization that he will have plenty of time to push Eames, later. He removes his shirt, steps out of his shoes and socks, folding them all in a neat pile. He strips off his undershirt, stopping when Eames makes a slight sound. He looks up at Eames’ gaze, then smirks a little. He knows his body surprises people. His past lovers had always seemed nicely surprised by the wiry, lean musculature under his starched shirts. Eames looks more like a cat getting ready to devour a canary, licking his lips with his gaze hooded and hot as he looks from Arthur’s face, down his chest, over his cock that is outlined in the tight trousers then up again to his face.

“Go on, then.”

Arthur does, unbuckling his belt and sliding off the three-hundred dollar trousers, folding them and placing them carefully on the desk. He bends to slide off his underwear, catching his breath when his cock jiggles, bouncing a little against his stomach as he moves.

Arthur smirks, giving his own cock a tug while he waits for Eames to take off his clothes.

“Ah-ah, pet. None of that. On the bed, please.”

Arthur wants to laugh. Eames sounds like he’s asking for an extra straw at dinner. Something must show on his face because Eames has an answering grin. Arthur’s mouth goes dry again. At this rate he’s going to be dehydrated before they actually fuck. Eames looks positively evil for a moment as he tilts his head, watching Arthur pad naked over to the bed. He feels a little ridiculous as he stretches out his arms, wondering if he should strip off the comforter first. The sound of Eames’ change jangling is Arthur’s only warning before Eames is pulling his arms so that they’re above his head, stretched so that his fingers can just barely grip the lip of the top of the mattress. Eames is pressed to his back again, and Arthur shivers, feeling the same incredible heat from before. There is something utterly filthy about the way that Eames hasn’t even undressed. Eames is kneeling with one knee on either side of Arthur’s hips as he bends forward, using Arthur’s own tie to tie his wrists together. The silk is, of course, top of the line; Arthur knows that the fabric will only tighten the knots together, not allowing them to slip free.

Eames moves off of him, and Arthur has the first moment of doubt. He can hear Eames moving around behind him, the sound of a bag zipper, of a clink of something against a table.

Picking someone up and fucking them is fine. Sex is a need like any other; despite what people assume, Arthur likes to fuck. Arthur doesn't really have friends (and whatever else Eames is, he isn't sure if that name suits their relationship either) so the fact that he’s never really been in this situation before - the willingness to give up even a small bit of his own control- makes Arthur bite his lip with an uncharacteristic bout of nervousness. His skin feels too tight, like just the act of Eames taking the tiniest bit of control away from him makes him more aware of the tension in his muscles, tension that he never really stops carrying. But, Eames is safe. Crazy, unpredictable, and often dangerous, yes, and yet Arthur knows that he can trust him.

The thought calms him as he tests the bindings around his wrists, stretching out his arms and curving his back so that his cock brushes against the covers on the bed.

Eames pulls the pillows from under Arthur and arrange them so his ass is up in the air.

“All right there, darling?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, opens his mouth to tell Eames to get  _on_ with it already, but feels Eames’ hand coast from his neck down his spine, over the globes of his ass and on his thighs, just skating over his body, the lightest of touches traveling up and down his back. His smartass remark chokes him and Arthur leans into Eames’ touch like a plant leaning towards the sun.

“Oh...” Eames breathes out with the slightest of sounds, cupping Arthur’s ass with his hands, nails scratching slightly against the seam of skin where his thighs and ass meet. He can feel Eames’ breath against him, and his throat tightens when he feels the bed dip with his weight as it settles behind him. Arthur can feel Eames’ stubble as he brushes his cheek against the back of his knee, up the back of his thigh, and Arthur can’t help the way he spreads his legs, and his face burns at the low chuckle he feels more than hears from where Eames is pressed close against his body.

“On your knees then. Up you get.”

Arthur gasps and glares back over his shoulder at the little slap. His ass stings a little. He tries to ignore the way his cock jumps, and is pretty sure he’s unsuccessful by the way Eames smirks down at him, looking delighted. Eames leans forward and kisses him, a quick brush of lips that throws Arthur off. It’s not the needy kiss from before, it’s almost... affectionate. Sweet, given the fact that Eames hasn’t even bothered to get undressed. Arthur blinks when Eames draws back, and turns his head so that he’s staring up at the headboard while Eames arranges Arthur's body how he wants it, placing one of the pillows under him so that his ass is up in the air, on his knees with his legs spread apart. The pillows keep him from being able to rub his dick against anything. Arthur flexes his fingers, liking the slight numbness that makes his fingers tingle.

“You know that refusing to speak just makes me more ... eager to make you fall apart, yeah?” The bed dips again.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Better men than you have tried, Mr. Eames.”

Arthur gets another slap on the other cheek of his ass for his trouble. Eames grabs him, rubbing hard enough that for a second Arthur can’t decide if it hurts or not. Eames uses his other hand, scraping the nails against Arthur’s skin, pulling apart the cheeks of his ass and squeezing, then pushing them together. His ass feels hot from the rush of blood, and Arthur bites his lip to keep a small sound from escaping. He can’t quite tell exactly where Eames is. Arthur knows that he’s on the bed, but he doesn’t know exactly how he’s arranged. He starts to turn to look, but before he can, one of Eames’ big hands is holding his neck, pushing it slightly into the mattress. His middle finger finds the bruise from before, and Arthur shivers; he can feel the thumb of Eames’ hand pressing against his dry hole and his eyes widen. Arthur starts to speak but feels Eames’ hand sliding down his spine again, pushing him the center of his shoulder blades so that his chest is pressed firmly into the mattress, causing his ass to tilt up just the slightest bit more. The hand on his cheek shifts, moving to hold him open and the air from the hotel room feels almost violently cold.

Eames moves again, and the brush of the fabric of his shirt against Arthur’s leg causes him to shut his eyes. He can feel Eames’ hot breath on his tailbone; feel the brush of his chin stubble against his butt and stops breathing.

If Eames would bother to ask, Arthur would tell him that the last time he’d been rimmed, he’d been interrupted by Joey Neigler’s mom, who had heard the stack of books that Arthur had thwacked with his elbow crash to the ground and had come upstairs to see what was wrong. He and Joey hadn’t even realized that she was standing there until her shriek had sent them diving for clothes. She had spent the next two years avoiding Arthur’s eyes with an Olympic level of skill. Arthur had just been glad that she’d never known what he and Joey had gotten up to on her dining room table.

Eames didn’t bother to ask.

Arthur can't help the way his body jumps when he feels Eames’ hot tongue sliding down from his tailbone, down over his balls and back up, getting him good and wet. It'slike Eames knows his mind is wandering, and is having none of it. As an attention-getter it is surprisingly effective.

Eames pulls him apart again, and Arthur feels the tip of his tongue circling his hole, flicking and teasing. Arthur can’t keep the low sound in his throat from escaping. He feels Eames’ body heat pressing closer, feels the rigity of his muscles as they slide against his own sweatslick skin feels the dig of Eames’ fingers and has to suck in air to his desperate lungs. The rubbing and playing from before has made his skin terribly sensitive. Each touch feels magnified somehow, like there’s just  _more_  to what Eames is doing. Eames rewards him with another slow lick from tailbone to his perineum, the flat of his tongue pressing against the tight ring of muscle.

Arthur realizes that Eames has arranged him so that Arthur can’t get his arms under him without some work. He can’t get his palms under him without moving from how Eames has his body bent on the bed. Arthur starts to rock back towards Eames’ tongue but stops himself, remembering why he was here in the first place. He’s gone to all that trouble to practically dare Eames into fucking him senseless, and here he is practically handing him the victory.

Eames actually makes a _tut, tut_ noise, then just pulls Arthur back to his face, flicking the tip of his tongue around and around, teasing the sensitive nerve endings until Arthur realizes that he has his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open on the ugly bedspread, panting into the fabric.  _Fuck, Fuck, Fuck_  he chants in his head, wanting to tell Eames to stop fucking _teasing_ him already. Arthur can feel spit dripping down Eames’ face as he plays with him, sliding down Eames’ chin and dripping onto Arthur’s balls.

Eames pulls off of him, sucking in a breath. Arthur feels his thumbs on his asshole, opening him just the smallest bit. Arthur freezes, feeling the muscles in his thighs trembling with want. Eames, the fucking  _fucker_  just continues with the flicking licks, carefully not giving Arthur what he needs. It goes on for minutes, hours. Arthur’s whole body is attuned to the wet muscle that  _won’t just fuck him already_.

“Eames...” Arthur chokes out his name, the muscles in his thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. The answering moan causes Arthur’s eyes to pop open, his mouth twisting in a grimace when Eames shoves his tongue into his hole. Arthur can feel the tendons on his neck tighten painfully when he tilts up his head, wide eyes blind on the ceiling. Eames fucks him with his tongue, alternating the speed and strength; sometimes just a lick around the edge, sometimes wiggling his tongue inside of him, pressed so closely that Arthur can feel his nose press against him as Eames tries to suck in air.

Arthur’s cock is swollen, so fucking hard that he can’t believe that he hasn’t come yet. He can feel his dick practically drooling pre-come as he fucks back onto Eames’ tongue, moaning low in his throat like saying Eames’ name had given him permission. When Eames jerks away, he can feel his hole tightening around nothing and curses, trying to muffle the sound in the mangled bedspread. He’s shoved so much in his mouth that he can taste the faint tang of the bleach used by the hotel staff to keep it clean.

“God, fucking _look_ at you. Look at your hungry, bloody perfect little arse just begging for my mouth. You want more, don’t you darling?” Eames’ voice makes something low in Arthur’s belly clench. Eames presses his chin against him and Arthur cries out, bound fingers clawing at the mattress. It hurts, his skin too sensitive; it’s like he can feel each separate hair pressing into his skin. Eames pulls away, soothing him again with his tongue. Arthur’s moans are still muffled as he feels Eames slide in one slick finger along-side his tongue. The stretch sends his already strained nerve endings into overdrive as he rocks back, looking for more. Eames shoves in another finger, curling the two digits so that they press just below his prostate. Eames slaps his ass again in warning when Arthur tries to twist into the caress and his  _Fuck. Fuck you, Eames_  isn’t as muffled as he wanted it to be.

Eames just laughs and pulls his mouth off of him, jerking out his fingers with a rough pull. He goes back to holding Arthur’s ass open for his mouth again, this time sliding the tip of his tongue over the rim and inside, around, and around and around until Arthur hears a high, whining cry and knows realizes it’s his own voice, begging for more. He spreads his legs wider, falling off balance without his hands free to catch his weight and begins rocking into the mattress, the friction on his throbbing cock exactly what he wants. Eames doesn’t notice for a second, then he’s yanking Arthur down the bed, the bedspread rucking up uncomfortably at Arthur’s hips before slithering down onto the floor. Eames pulls Arthur so that he’s standing, his arms flailing for balance, hauled up by the strength of Eames’ arm curled around him. Arthur stumbles before he gives into the idea of Eames just hauling him where he wants him. Arthur is shocked to see that Eames still hasn’t taken off his clothes. His cock looks obscene, fully outlined against his pleated trousers, and for a second Arthur can’t look away. He swallows, his dry throat making a clicking sound.

“If you come, I’m done.”

Arthur blinks, forcing himself to look up to Eames’ face. “Wh-what?”His lips are red and swollen, his face wet from eating him out. Arthur can feel his dick bobbing against his stomach, and flinches when Eames reaches out to brush his fingers against it, still shiny from the slick.

Eames hums a little, sliding his thumb over the head of Arthur’s cock. Arthur’s whole body shivers and he tries to take a step back. Eames just shakes his head. “You really must pay attention.” He pulls on Arthur’s cock, smirking when Arthur’s knees threaten to give out. He doesn’t know quite what to do with his arms, and rests them on Eames’ shoulder.

“I think you like my hands on your arse, darling. Would you agree?” One of the hands in question slides from around his waist to grip Arthur’s ass. Eames grabs a handful, sliding his fingers over Arthur's hole, pressing the tip of his middle finger just inside.

Arthur’s eyes slide closed. He does. Arthur has never even dreamed that he would like the feeling of his ass being manhandled; hit and kissed and played with like this.  _Eames is like the kink whisperer or something._ Eames’ delighted laugh makes Arthur’s eyes pop open, a blush flooding his cheeks as he realizes that he whispered the last bit out loud.

“The ‘kink whisperer,’ huh?” Eames smirks as he drops to his knees, surprisingly graceful for someone so bulky.

Arthur is mortified, turning away from Eames and starting to take a step away, cursing his own sex-stupid mouth. He can feel Eames press a kiss to his hipbone, teeth scraping lightly down over his pelvis before sucking lightly at the skin there. Eames’ breath is light on Arthur’s hard cock, causing goosebumps to break out over his skin.  “I’m terrified that if I let you go, I’ll wake up.”  Eames nuzzles into the skin there, groaning a little when the movement of his face causes Arthur’s cock to bump against him. Arthur shudders, pressing his wrists into Eames’ shoulder as his knees threaten to buckle again.

“If.. if you put your mouth on me, I don’t think. I can’t... _Eames_!”

It’s the longest string of words he’s managed to put together since Eames used his mouth on him, and it’s Eames’ turn to shudder as he presses light kisses over Arthur’s hipbones, his abs, licking at the pre-come that has leaked onto his stomach. He turns Arthur, kissing him, and says something, low in his throat. Arthur misses it, too focused on the pull and scrape of Eames’ face against him, greedy for whatever Eames wants to give him. Eames bites his asscheek, pulling at the skin with his mouth so that Arthur cries out under him, stopping just before breaking the skin.

“Stand here a tick. I’ll be right back.”

Eames’ voice is so low that Arthur can only shiver, watching as Eames rises gracefully to his feet, walks over, and jerks the desk chair closer to the bed. He doesn’t even notice his suit jacket, placed so painstakingly there from earlier crash to the ground.

It’s not the sturdiest looking thing, a cheap-looking wood with a cherry finish. Eames sits down with his legs cockily spread, almost straddling the cushion. There are no arms on the chair, and Arthur’s eyes widen when he realizes what Eames wants.

Arthur goes to straddle Eames’ muscular thighs, but Eames just picks him up,  _fucking picks him up_  and bends him over his lap so that his ass is in the air, his cock pressed up uncomfortably between his stomach and Eames’ leg, the palms of his hands splayed against the carpet as much as they can for balance, while Eames tugs and pushes him to where he wants him.

“I mean it now. Tell me if you think you’re close, okay, Arthur? I just want to ... play a little more. Then you can have my cock, yeah?”

In any other situation, Arthur would be so furious at the condescending, placating tone of Eames’ voice that he probably would have shot him just to make a point. Now, though, it’s both praise and a promise, and Arthur is fucking _desperate_ for whatever Eames wants to give him. He does an awkward push-up, pressing his cock into Eames’ thigh and hears him _tsking_ under his breath. “None of that now, you filthy little cheat.”

Before Arthur can protest the rather blatant injustice of that statement, Eames has tugged him so his cock has nothing to rub against, moving him so that he’s just on the uncomfortable side of off-balance. Eames' hand crashes down on his ass, and Arthur sucks in a deep breath, shocked. Eames huffs out a breath, rubbing the sore skin, pulling at Arthur’s legs with his other hand so that he’s spread open. Arthur freezes, a deep grunt escaping him as Eames spanks him again. And again. He alternates cheeks, pressing and pulling at the skin. Arthur cries out at the feel of lube dripping down in-between his cheeks and can’t help the way he rocks into each smack, fucking against nothing, the muscles in his arms bunching as he just lets Eames do whatever he wants to his body, taking it. Eames dips his fingers into his ass, scissoring them as he smacks hard enough that the skin jiggles. There’s more lube, and Arthur is crying out with each crash of Eames’ hand against his ass, the guttural  _nghhhh, uhhh, uhhhh_ breaking from his throat. Eames stops suddenly, yanking out his fingers with a wet squelch.He moves his thighs, pressing his cock against Arthur’s hip, sucking in a deep, unsteady breath.

“Fucking Christ, look at you. _Look_ at you....” He spreads Arthur open again, smacking him with just one lube-slick hand, spanking Arthur’s over-sensitized asshole once, twice, rubbing with a little twist of his wrist that makes Arthur see stars. He bucks hard enough that he almost falls off of Eames’ lap. “Fucking _fuck_ , st--stop I’m. I.. Eames,  _Christ_!” Eames has to fumble to catch him but Arthur is straining away still babbling and Eames finally seems to hear him and understand.

The chair rocks as Eames pulls Arthur’s trembling body so that he’s sitting on Eames’ lap, slumped against his chest, panting for breath. He’s too close, can feel his orgasm building in his balls, feel the way his body has tightened almost impossibly. His cock jerks and Eames is careful to position him so that his tender ass rests lightly on his thighs, curled so that his cock won’t actually brush against Eames’ clothed body. Arthur is concentrating so hard on not coming that he misses the little kisses Eames pushes against his sweaty temple, the whispered words he presses into Arthur’s skin. His heart is thudding so loudly that he can only catch the tail end of Eames’ words- “--did so well, so perfect, fucking _gorgeous_ arse so red for me, driving me mad, _Arthur_ , god, Arthur you drive me absolutely _fucking_ mad--” as he strokes his hand down Arthur’s shoulder, down his back and up again, calming him. They sit there for a few moments, both of them on this side of too close to coming. Arthur shifts a little, the throbbing of his ass becoming more and more noticeable now that all of his concentration isn’t focused on his dick and the emptiness of his hole. He squirms. It feels like his ass is hotter than the rest of his body. The scrape of Eames’ trousers is uncomfortable. Almost painful. Eames just cups his hip, pressing Arthur down on his legs with a deep chuckle.

“Are you going to undo my wrists?”

Eames looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Could do. D’ya think you can keep your hands off of your cock?”

Arthur rolls his eyes.

Eames’ laugh is filthy. “Then, no. I don’t think I will, love.” Arthur feels his tongue on his neck, licking at the sweat that has pooled on his collarbone. It only takes a nudge and a little turn of his body and they’re kissing again. Eames’ cock jumps when Arthur sucks on Eames’ tongue, licking at his lips. Eames reaches down and moves Arthur’s arms so that they’re looped around his shoulders. Arthur pulls at Eames’ hair, tiling his head back as he shifts over him, careful to keep their cocks from touching. Eames growls into his mouth, his hands tightening on Arthur’s hips, his fingers sliding down over Arthur’s ass like he can’t help himself.

Arthur smirks into the kiss and Eames retaliates by lightly scraping his nails over the reddened flesh, causing Arthur to wiggle again, gasping in shock as his whole body lights up. “Eames....” Arthur knows he sounds just on this side of desperate and doesn’t give a fuck. “You said... you  _said_ if I didn’t come you’d fuck me. You promised. Please,  _fuck,_  Eames, please don’t you want inside..?”

Eames’ fingers dig into his hips hard enough that Arthur knows that he’ll have dark marks there the next day. He yelps, his eyes staring down into Eames’, his own half-insane needy gaze locking with Eames’ quiet, intense stare He can feel when Eames begins to unbuckle his belt, lifting them both up as he undoes his zipper, pulling his cock out through the hole in his underwear.

Arthur looks down at him, completely unaware that he’s licking his lips.

Eames tugs, and Arthur balances himself with one knee on Eames’ rock hard thigh, and the other on the very edge of the chair. Eames lifts, holding his dick steady and Arthur uses his forearms as leverage, his eyes widening, breath leaving him on a gasp when the head of Eames’ cock slides against him before Eames curses and holds Arthur up, jerking him away from his cock.

“ _Shit._ ”

“Wh--” Arthur can’t even talk. He’s like some wailing, depraved thing, desperate from being so _fucking close_ to having Eames’ thick dick in him, then being jerked away from it, punished, like a dog on a leash. Some of that must show on his face, because Eames presses his forehead against Arthur’s and stands, picking him up with what seems like hardly any effort at all.

Arthur knows that shouldn’t be as much of a turn on as it actually is, but oh well. He’s pretty sure he’s established that he’s fairly well fucked when it comes to Eames’ tendencies to manhandle him around like he weighs nothing.

“No, darling. Not what you’re thinking.” Eames kisses him on the cheek, placating. “Forgot the rubber, like a total knob.”

“Oh.” Arthur tightens his legs around Eames’ waist as Eames takes two calm steps over to his suitcase, hitches Arthur to the side and calmly picks up the foil packet, walking back to the chair and stopping. He wants to laugh but the teasing rub of Eames’ cock just under the curve of his ass is distracting enough that he just presses his forehead into the curve of Eames’ shoulder, wiping his sweaty face on his shirt as he breathes in the heady, musky scent of their bodies. He can hear him rip it open, then slide it down onto his cock, his knuckles bumping against his balls as it snaps into place.

“There, darling. That’s better, yeah?”

Before Arthur can reply, Eames has turned and slammed him against the wall, shoving his cock up Arthur’s ass with one smooth stroke. Arthur  _screams_ , almost sobbing with the sensation of Eames’ thick cock opening him up, the head skittering against the bundle of nerves as Eames fucks into him. Arthur knocks the back of his head against the wall and tries to hang on, his nails catching on Eames’ dress shirt. It’s too much, it’s perfect, it’s not enough and Arthur wants _more_. Eames thrusts into him, but Arthur’s arms and legs are so tight that he can’t quite get the angle he wants. He tries again, pulling out almost the entire way before slamming back in, bottoming out again, and again, and again.

“Fuck,  _Arthur_...” The low growl is in his shoulder as Eames bites him again, yanks Arthur’s mouth to him by the hair and kisses him, hard enough that their teeth click together. Arthur thinks that he’s dizzy from lack of oxygen, before he realizes that Eames has moved again, sitting down in the chair from before, letting go of Arthur’s body so that he has to drop his legs to keep from falling off. His legs are spread too wide and his overworked muscles stretch as Arthur gives an experimental squeeze of his inner muscles, mostly to watch Eames’ eyes roll back in his head.

Eames doesn’t touch him. His big hands have tightened on his own thighs, and Arthur gives a frustrated keen, wanting more. He moves, sliding up and down, controlling how much of Eames’ cock he takes inside of him, his head falling back as his whole body tingles with the sensation of being split open. He can hear himself, the whispered “Eames... Eames... Eames...” as Eames’ dick stretches him open. The angle isn’t quite enough and he tilts his head back up to look at Eames, his lips trembling with need. He wants to come. Fuck, he needs to come and Eames isn’t cooperating.

“Please. I... I need...” Arthur leans forward, kissing at Eames’ mouth like his kisses can somehow convince him to fuck him again. Eames’ hands catch on Arthur’s shoulders and he bends to kiss at Eames’ knuckles.

“What the  _fuck_... why won’t you.  _Please_!”

“Admit it.”

Arthur tightens around Eames’ cock, screwing himself down on him again, bending to kiss at Eames mouth one more time before he stiffens when what Eames says registers. He sees the flash of amusement in Eames’ eyes when he sees that Arthur has realized what he means.

“Fuh.. fuck.  _You!_ ” Arthur writhes, pulling his arms from around Eames’ shoulders. He can’t quite figure out why his feelings are suddenly hurt at the fact that Eames had done all of this... had broken him apart, had him strung out and desperate just to make a point. He’d obviously read too much into the little kisses and softer touches. Eames shakes his head, knocking Arthur’s arms away when he tries to reach for his own cock. Arthur knows a few quick pulls will get him off and he wants it. Wants this to stop so that after tonight he can try to scrap some remnants of his dignity together and go somewhere far away where he’ll never have to see Eames again.

“Why can’t you just admit that I’m not completely incompetent?” Eames sounds out of breath, the hurt just barely there under the careful blankness of his voice. He knocks Arthur’s hands away again and pulls their bodies together so that Arthur can’t reach for his own dick. Arthur tilts his head back and blinks.

“You’re not incompetent, Eames. Far from it.” Eames’ eyes widen and Arthur sees the shock on his face. _Jesus_. “You ridiculous, stubborn  _asshole._ ”

Eames’ lips twitch as he tries (rather unsuccessfully) to hide a smile. When he speaks, it’s practically a purr. “Why darling. I do believe that there was a compliment deep,  _deep_  inside of that.” Eames’ hands curl on Arthur’s hips, supporting him as he tilts him back slightly, changing the angle of his penetration.

Arthur’s eyes almost cross as he huffs out, “Why... why would you care about a compliment from... me--oh  _fuck_. Fuck, _Eames_.” Eames pulls him up, and slams him back onto his cock. Arthur’s own dick aches, red and throbbing and full as Eames fucks over his prostate, over and over until he’s forgotten everything except the feel of Eames inside of him. He feels Eames’ mouth over his again, too wrecked to kiss him properly, panting into Arthur’s mouth as he tries to drag breath into his lungs.

Eames’ fingers are wet on the stretched muscle of his asshole and that’s it. The first spurt of come hits Eames just under the neck, the second on his shirt as Arthur's ass spasms on the girth of Eames’ cock, tightening with each twitch of Eames’ dick inside of him. Eames makes a strangled sound and thrusts up into him twice more before he collapses back onto the chair.

Arthur tightens his ass again, just to be a dick, and would have laughed at the way Eames’ whole body shudders from over-sensitivity. Eames’ is rubbing over the knobs of his spine again, up and down, soothing him. Arthur doubts he even realizes that he’s doing it.

“Hey, Eames?” His voice is completely wrecked. Arthur couldn't give less of a fuck.

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t admit anything, you know.”

“Bollocks! You ... just said.... you...”

Arthur makes a smug little noise, rubbing his body against Eames’, catlike. Distraction is one of his better skills. It's Eames’ own fault that he’d had to use it against him. Serves him right for thinking he’d be able to fuck any kind of agreement out of him. Arthur might be willing to privately acknowledge that he had _perhaps_ been slightly mistaken when he’d assumed that Eames was an idiot, and that his input on their job was unnecessary. But he’d never actually say it out loud.

“Well fuck me.” Eames snorts, and then laughs.

Arthur squeaks a little when Eames stands up, letting Arthur’s legs fall to the ground. He takes a step back, looking at the way Eames’ trousers are stained from lube, splatters of come all over his clothes. There is a fine line between losing control and _goading_  someone into losing control. His clothes aren't come-stained, after all.

“That can be arranged.”

The sharp slap on his ass as he walks by Eames makes him smirk.

 


End file.
